


My Grandfather's Watch

by Fishyz9



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishyz9/pseuds/Fishyz9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Brian’s reappearance. I cannot for the life of me figure out what this Valentines gift from Sonny to Will is, so for the purpose of this fic I’ve swapped things around. A certain part of this fic will make more sense if reading my fic Fight-or-flight first: http://lagilbertauthor.tumblr.com/post/39057607615/fic-fight-or-flight-willxsonny</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Grandfather's Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sixtieshairdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtieshairdo/gifts).



> Additional note regarding WilSon shippers flipping the fuck out recently: Chillax and group hug already.
> 
> Additional note to my additional note: Dedicated to sixtieshairdo, because her comments are almost as good as the stories she writes. And her stories are the shit.

I like this spot, it may just be an unobtrusive bench tucked away behind the hedges in Horton Square, but it’s private. I can hear people, but they can’t see me. I can sit quietly and just breathe. I don’t have to concentrate to keep my voice steady. I don’t have to think about what my face betrays. I can just sit, and let myself hurt.

I mostly keep my head down these days. It’s not that I have to, really. Despite my lying to them, my family’s actually been strangely awesome. Even Rafe seems to have defrosted a little, though my stepping up and making my intentions about the baby clear probably had something to do with that. No, I keep my head down because if I don’t look up, then there’s no chance of me seeing Sonny. Or Brian. Or…worse, Sonny and Brian.

Again.

I’m not a fan of self-pity; but there are a number of reasons, all legitimate, as to why I am so pathetic. Reason number one? I want to say that I was manipulated into keeping such a ridiculous secret, but it wouldn’t be the entire truth. I put what I wanted – who I wanted before my own flesh and blood and it was selfish, not to mention pointless, because when it eventually did come out, it was relief I felt. Even if the consequence was Sonny’s devastation. And after having actually seen her? My daughter? I can’t believe I ever entertained the idea of not being her father.

Reason number two: my inability to fix this mess. Sonny Kiriakis is downright intimidating when angry, but when he’s sad, it is so, so much worse. I honestly want to punch myself in the face whenever I see those brown eyes looking anything remotely close to discontent, let alone miserable.

I honestly don’t know how else to apologize. I tried, again and again, and I think I may have even come close to reaching him, but then I screwed that up by trying to turn it into something physical. The only thing left to do, or so I thought, was to let the dust settle. Well, evidently I let it settle a little too long.

What I did…it was not only stupid, it was unkind. I made Sonny feel insignificant. I humiliated him. I hurt him. This secret took our every intimate moment and turned it all into farce. But I…I didn’t set out to hurt him. I kept this secret— among other reasons— because of how much I wanted to keep him. Over the past few months he’s made me feel so grounded, so protected. So worth protecting. And then this happened. I screwed up big, but is asking for little understanding, even forgiveness completely out of line? I know I don’t deserve it, I know that. But isn’t that what the people who love you do? They offer you compassion and love, even when it’s underserved. I suppose we didn’t have enough time to reach that point.

That brings me to reason number three. He was it for me. I was picturing an apartment. A house. Ceremonies. Maybe even a dog. I was happy, and I don’t think it occurs to Sonny just how big of a deal that is for me. Sonny’s a happy guy (usually). He doesn’t know who I was before we met. Not really. He doesn’t get how my life finally started when he came in to it. He doesn’t know how much bigger, how much more incredible the world feels with him in it.

And he doesn’t know how unimportant, how irrelevant and how forgettable I feel now. He was everything to me, and I am now quite clearly nothing to him. He doesn’t know how much it hurt to see him kiss Brian. He doesn’t know how naive I felt, how pitifully close to tears I was when Brian gloated to me about their time together. Another failing on my behalf, maybe. Because I should have told him every day what it is he meant to me.

Now someone else is doing that. Brian— timing perfect as ever— has so easily slid into my place. I can’t hate him for what it is he thinks of me, I can’t get angry at him for resenting me for hurting Sonny. But what I don’t like? I don’t like opportunistic fucking vultures. I don’t like a guy who takes advantage of a fragile situation. It’s low. It’s something to be ashamed of. And it’s frustrating as fuck because I don’t have a leg to stand on. I am the bad guy, I own that, completely. But…a few weeks? I’m either very easy to get over, or I completely misread Sonny’s feelings for me. I don’t know. I’m confused and I’m alone because he won’t talk to me. He’s with someone else now and I don’t even know how that happened.

Finally, I’m pathetic because despite— no matter how unjustified— abandoned I feel, I would still ask him to take me back, to please, please love me again.

If I could only look at him.

I hate how pitiful my thoughts are. I hate how weak and meager I am. I hate that despite this terrible thing I did to Sonny I still manage to somehow make myself feel like a victim. I am trying so hard to just be a man, but one look at him and I feel like a boy.

My phone vibrates. I sigh, pulling it out of my pocket and my heart suddenly leaps into my throat when seeing it’s Sonny who’s texted me. For a moment I just stare at my phone, afraid to touch it incase his image disappears. When I do open the message I feel a mixture of hope and fear.

Can you come by Common Grounds this evening?

I’m flat out embarrassed at the amount of time I deliberate on my wording before sending back:

Of course.

I stand, begin to head home, realize I’m going in the wrong direction and quickly change track. As soon as I’m home I get undressed, stand in front of the mirror and just simply hate myself for a few minutes. I need to look good. Not just good for me, but good by any standard. I need to look better than Brian.

Well, that clearly isn’t going to happen. But I pull on a clean, ironed pair of jeans. A crisp blue shirt that Sonny once said matched my eyes. I even polish my boots. I mourn the fact that my hair has reached its poofy stage and I don’t have time for a haircut, but attempt to tame it with gel. I hesitate with the cologne, and then decide to go for broke and slap some on.

I stare at my reflection, wishing that I was more handsome. I hope that when the time comes I’ll be able to stand straight and look Sonny in the eye, and somehow convey that I’m more than I’ve shown myself to be. I hope that I’ll somehow make him want me again.

The walk over to Common Grounds is a slow one. I’m so nervous that I want to be sick, but I’m also just hopeful enough that it keeps my feet moving. When I reach Common Grounds I can see that it’s just winding down. I hesitate by the door until I see Sonny heading on back to the counter as he waves goodbye to the last customer for the night. That’s when he sees me. And that’s when his smile disappears, taking with it most of the hope I was holding onto.

I approach the counter, my mouth annoyingly dry, and I want so much to appear casual and mature, but my insides are shaking apart.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he says, and even now he’s still so guarded around me. “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, yeah that’s-that’s no problem. So, uh…so what’s up? I mean how are you doing?”

He pauses, clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I’m not. I’m heartbroken. And I don’t want you to be good, not with Brian, not without me.

“I’m glad,” I say instead, and take a seat on one of the stools. I lean my elbows on the counter, remembering only at the last moment to sit up straight, to appear more together, like less of a victim. “I’m really glad you texted me.” I try to smile, and it’s met with only a blank stare.

“Yeah, about that. I was, um, I was moving a few things around at my place and found something.” I watch him reach into his pocket and pull out a small, familiar looking box. “I found this at the back of a draw; I think you missed it when you were clearing your things out.”

I feel something in the bottom of my stomach drop, and my hand feels heavy when I reach for it. I can’t believe I forgot about this. I frown when realizing that the wrapping paper is gone, and I look at him. It occurs to me that he not only opened it knowing that it was a gift for him, but that he’s now purposefully rejecting it. Right then I hate myself. I hate everything.

“You opened it,” I say dumbly.

I see him uncomfortably rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. I just…I saw my name on the tag, saw the Happy Valentines message and…I should have just given it back to you as it was.”

I realize with a start that it’s two days before Valentine’s Day. Has so much time really passed? Has that much time passed since I’d hesitantly asked my mother to alter a long standing tradition just for me? Since I’d excitedly (and rather shabbily) wrapped it in plain red wrapping paper with a small ribbon, and written a very specific message on a tag that was now nowhere to be found? 

“Why did you open it?” I ask weakly.

I see his throat bob as he swallows, and he looks away. He eventually shrugs, as if he doesn’t care at all. “Curiosity, I guess?”

That’s it? It becomes apparent to me that I’ve either hurt more deeply than I first imagined, or that he’s moved on and just does not give a damn. It’s the only way I can fathom how cold he is now.

“I didn’t mean to leave it, I kind of…I packed in a rush.”

I see a crack in his façade as he nods. His gaze downcast. “The message was nice,” he says quietly.

I remember sitting at the desk in my bedroom, pen in hand, agonizing over what to write. Eventually I’d settled on something along the lines of:

Sonny,

To our new beginning together.

Love, Will. 

“Can I ask why?” Sonny almost whispers, brown eyes that utterly own me finally looking my way.

“Yes.” I shake my head slightly. “I mean…why what?”

“Why a pocket watch?”

“Oh.” Suddenly I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to know what the meaning behind that watch is, but I’ve done enough lying. “It’s…it’s a tradition thing.”

He looks at me curiously, and suddenly I’m reminded of Christmas and of how much Sonny appreciated and loved being pulled into the Horton family traditions. “Well, um…” I reach for the box and open it so that we can both see the watch on its old, somewhat tarnished chain.

“I think it was originally an engagement present, I’m not sure. But it belonged to my great, great grandfather. It’s been passed down in our family; mostly to the daughters so that…” I cut him a nervous look. “…So that they can give it to their significant other, when they find him.” I’m too afraid to look at him, so I power on. “My mom gave it to my dad, and then he would have given it to Allie, but when they split, my dad gave it back to my mom.”

I look at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s actually looking back. No barriers, no anger, just lingering sadness.

“How did you wind up with it, then?” He asks quietly.

I bite my lip. “I asked my mother if I could have it.” I admit quietly. “I’m not a girl, obviously, but I did meet the man…the man I wanted to be with.” I say. “I asked her if we could update this one tradition slightly, if I could have it instead of my sister.” I lift one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I wanted to give you my grandfather’s watch, Sonny.” I finish quietly.

I see his brow pucker, and he looks so sad it kills me. He clears his throat, and when he looks at me, there’s a slight sheen in his eyes. “For the record?” He says, his voice weak. “I would have loved it.”

I feel something heavy and painful settle over my chest. I don’t know if it’s hope or fear. I close the box, and then move it across the counter, sliding it under his hand. “Then it’s yours.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t pull his hand away from beneath mine. “No. You can’t give it to me now.”

“I want to.” It’s humiliating how my voice cracks, but it at least makes him look at me.

“We’re not together anymore.”

“I still want you to have it.” I insist.

“Why?”

“Because you’re supposed to have it. I’m supposed to give it to the person I love.” I swallow hard. “Even if they don’t feel—”

“Love was never the problem, Will.”

“If we love each other than shouldn’t we be able to work through this? Isn’t…” I break off, feeling breathless and afraid. “Isn’t there any way you can begin to forgive me?”

He’s quiet and won’t look at me. I wait, but he doesn’t say anything.

I take a leap, feeling my cheeks flush with heat when I speak next. “I…I don’t care about Brian, Sonny. There’s nothing that’s ever going to make me not love you.”

His eyes snap up to look at me, and there’s an odd mixture of confusion, annoyance and regret there. He pulls his hand away from underneath mine. “You don’t care about Brian.” He echoes.

I lick my lips quickly. “I screwed up. Me. I know I hurt you and made you think that I don’t trust you, but—”

“What does this have to do with Brian?”

“I’m trying to say that I get it. I understand how someone might look f-for comfort when—”

“What exactly are you trying to insinuate?” He snaps.

Things are rapidly sliding out of control and I don’t even know what it is I’ve said this time to piss him off so much. “I’m just trying to say I don’t…I can get over what you and Brian—”

He spluttered. “Oh, well how big of you!”

“What?” I ask quietly, shaking my heat minutely. “What did I say now?”

“I don’t need your permission to see other people, Will. You know, it may come as a surprise to you, but maybe there are people out there who want to date me who haven’t knocked up—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, raising my voice to match his. I can only take so much aggression. “I already know about Brian, Sonny. I already know!” I take a heaving breath, suddenly sick of being a punching bag. “And believe me; he couldn’t wait to tell me all about—”

We both look to the entrance of the coffee house when we hear the door open, and it could be my imagination, but I swear I hear a sigh of frustration from Sonny that matches my own.

“Hey, I heard raised voices, what’s—?” Brian stops, looks between us, and I swear I could punch him in his perfect face. Fuck his false concern.

“Sonny, you okay?”

I try my best to school my features when Brian walks right by me to behind the counter, as if he has every right to be there. Sonny shifts an uneasy glance between us and I seethe.

“We were having a private conversation, Brian.” I bite out.

He glances at me, smirks, and then looks at Sonny. “Want me to leave, Sonny?”

Sonny swipes up a dishcloth and twists it in his hands. He frowns, looking anywhere but at either of us. “I-I think…maybe—”

“I think that’s a no.” Brian says, putting an arm around Sonny’s waist.

I can’t help it, seeing that hand on Sonny’s hip is like a physical blow, more so when Sonny doesn’t move away. “I didn’t hear him say anything.” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“He is standing right here.” Sonny shifts away from Brian, shooting him an annoyed look. “Stop antagonizing him, Brian.”

His words should please me, but there’s a familiarity in the way Sonny speaks to him that turns my stomach. There’s an easy acceptance in the way Brian backs off, smirking, holding his hands up in mock surrender that implies he’s used to Sonny’s reprimands. Sonny looks at me, and I can’t be sure, but I think I see pity there. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m the ex-boyfriend who can’t take a hint. I’m the stupid, naïve, idiot boy who won’t leave him alone.

“Will,” he says softly, and it makes me wince.

I can’t look at him. Instead I stare at the box that holds my grandfather’s watch. “Will you please keep the watch?” I ask pathetically, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the stinging in my eyes at bay.

He lays his hand on the box, I hold my breath, and he pushes it towards me, away from him.

“No,” he says just as quietly.

I feel my breathing grow labored with the effort to keep it together. I reach for the box; hold it tightly in both hands. “Do you have any idea how much this meant to me?” I venture a look up at him, and I see that he isn’t fairing much better than I am. This is the breakup, then. This is the actual breakup we’d been avoiding.

“Probably about the same as the key meant to me.”

I close my eyes, and manage only one step back from the counter. I’m supposed to walk away now, I know that, but knowing something and doing it are two different things.

“Just leave already, Will. This is getting embarrassing to watch.” Brian says.

“Seriously?” Sonny says, turning to Brian. “Are you serious right now?”

I have only one objective left, and that is to get out of this building without breaking down in front of him. I can feel my breath hitching, my throat feels thick and I fight the urge to ask just one more time for him to change his mind.

I almost make it to the door without incident, but the edges of the box are digging into my palm and before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve reared my hand back and thrown the box as hard as I can with a disastrously pained cry. Something clatters, falls to the floor and smashes. I turn, fumble for the handle and leave without a backwards glance.

My hands dig deep into my pockets and I just about keep myself from running home. I’m mortified. I feel hot tears sting my eyes and angrily wipe at my eyes, refusing to let them fall. I quite literally, just threw my toys out of the pram.

Mature, Will. Real mature. Way to go and prove them right. They’re probably back there now, laughing at me. Shaking their heads at what a child I am. Making plans together. Still laughing. I make it to my front door, fumbling for my keys as I realize that my mom has—thankfully—taken the kids out to a movie.

I close the door behind me, leaning against it. “Oh God.” I run my hands over my face. “What did I just do? What did I just do?”

I take a few steps into the apartment, not knowing what to do with myself. I run my hands angrily through my hair and whip my jacket off, throwing it across the room.

I feel as if I’ve just travelled back in time a year. Forget comfort, forget belonging, forget understanding and restored faith. Nothing’s changed. I am still this person and more fool me for ever thinking I could be anything else.

I’m the guy that shot someone.

I’m the guy that tried to blackmail someone.

I’m the guy that thought he could change.

I’m the guy that knocked up his ex-girlfriend.

I’m the guy that gave away his child.

I’m the guy that hurt Sonny Kiriakis.

I’m the guy that drove Sonny Kiriakis away.

I’m the guy that made the mistake of being happy.

I’m the guy that sure as hell won’t make that mistake again.

I want to break something. I want to feel something physical and painful so that my outsides match my insides. And I’m going to. I’m going out. I’m going to the Spot, and I’m going to get very drunk and very stupid because what the fuck does it matter anyway? Whoever wants me can have me as long as they make it hurt.

I get undressed and climb into the shower. I want this fucking cologne off of me. In the shower I can cry. As long as I’m quiet I can convince myself it’s just water, no salt. I scrub quickly, scratching at myself and then rinse. With a towel wrapped around my waist I make it to my bedroom before I hear a knock at the door. Not giving a damn, I yell angrily in response.

“No one’s home!”

I turn back, clutching the towel close when I hear the door open. I’m about to unleash a torrent of pain at the unsuspecting, uninvited guest but stop short when I see who it is.

“What are you doing here?” I ask brokenly. “Aren’t you done yet?”

Sonny looks at me with confusion, slowly closing the door behind him. “Will…”

“Aren’t you done hurting this stupid, ugly, worthless—?”

“Stop that!” He growls at me.

“Fuck you!” I yell with venom, and then blink, shocked at myself. “I-I’m sorry.” I shake my head, stunned. “I don’t know where that—”

“I do.” He interrupts me. He lifts one shoulder in an offhanded gesture, but I can see he’s just as fragile as I am right now. “I was thinking something similar earlier, so…”

I lower my gaze, suddenly aware that my hair is dripping, that I’m naked under this towel, that my skin is growing cold. “Why are you here?”

He sighs, looking miserable as he walks a few paces closer so as to lean against the back of the sofa. He rubs his hands in that nervous way of his, looking at them to avoid looking at me. Eventually he reaches into his pocket, pulls out the battered box I threw across the coffee house not even an hour ago, and sets it down beside him.

“You broke it, idiot” he murmurs.

It’s strange how the way he calls me an idiot warms me of all things. It feels more important than the news that I’ve apparently broken my great, great grandfathers sentimentally irreplaceable pocket watch.

“Back at Common Grounds?” He risks a glance at me. “Will, that is not going to be our last conversation. No way is that how this ends.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighs, and runs his hand over the back of his head in a frustrated gesture. “I’m not even sure how I wanted that conversation to go. You may have noticed, but I’ve been avoiding having it with you. And we sure as hell shouldn’t have had an audience.”

“You didn’t know he was going to stop by?”

He frowns at me. “No.”

“But you had every chance to send him away.”

He nods, studying the carpet for the moment. “I know. I…” he sighs harshly. “When I get mad, or hurt, I-I kind of shut down, Will. I feel it too deeply, I think. I wish I wasn’t like that, but…”

“But?” I ask, taking a step closer.

“When I asked you to stop by…Will, it wasn’t just to give you the watch back.”

I look at him, willing him to continue and to not close up on me. “Go on.”

“I wanted to see if it was still there. I wanted to see if…if…”

He looks at me, and rather than the prickly, angry stare I’d grown so accustomed to of late, he instead looks unbearably vulnerable. He looks how he did when he first found out about the baby.

“I wanted to see if…if you could still take my breath away, just by walking into the room.”

I inch closer to him, but one careful, wary look from him warns me to not come any closer. “And?” I ask, desperate for his answer.

He glares at me. “What do you think?” he asks bitterly. “You walk into a room and I can’t breathe, Will. You’re—” he breaks off, closing his eyes and tilting his head away before forcing himself to look at me again. “You’re still the most…” his voice trembles, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. “You’re beautiful to me. You are beautiful, Will.” He says in a voice that is so lost and betrayed that I don’t even know what to think.

He suddenly pushes away from the sofa, and I can see the tears in his eyes as he walks up to me, stopping right in front of me. I have to clench my jaw to keep from losing control of my own emotions when his hand—tentative and unsure—reaches to brush my jaw.

“It still hurts to look at you” he whispers.

“Then forgive me,” I plead. “Just…just look at me how you used to, please.” My own voice cracks. “Love me again?” I whisper, ignoring the hot streak down my cheek.

He closes his eyes as if my words actually hurt him, and suddenly his hand is gone, and he’s taking a step back. I’ve fucked up again and I can’t stand it. I don’t let him retreat, I follow him. “Forget Brian, just forget him. I know he’s—”

His bitter laugh interrupts me. “Brian,” he says his name with such disconnection that I’m left stumped. “Brian can take a running leap for all I care.”

“H-he can?”

“Something you said before he turned up wasn’t sitting well with me. Something about he couldn’t wait to tell you..?”

I feel a distant pang of discomfort at recalling that conversation, but wet my lips and nod. “To tell me about you two…hooking up.” I’ve never hated any two words more.

He nods his head. “Yeah, that’s what I eventually got out of him. See? There’s something the two of you have in common,” he says sarcastically. “You both lie.”

I’m stung for a second before I actually take in his words. “Wait, you didn’t…?”

“Have sex? No.”

“But…but I saw you two in the coffee house, you left together…”

He actually flinches. “You…you saw that?”

There’s that rush of pain again. I try to not let it show on my face and just nod. But judging by the way he’s looking at me, by the way his eyebrows arch upwards in a sad frown, I’m clearly not succeeding.

“Despite how I was feeling, Will, I never would have wanted you to see that. I’m sorry.”

I nod my head quickly, unable to meet his gaze, but he’s clearly not satisfied and dips his head to try and catch my gaze.

“Will,” he says, his voice a touch firmer this time. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“Me too” I whisper.

“Nothing else happened. I was hurting, he was…not you, and he wanted me.” He shrugs and it’s a contradicting mixture of remorse and defiance. “He said all the right things and I wanted to escape for a little while. But that’s all that happened.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know. I’m giving you one anyway.”

“So…Brian?”

“Can suck my left nut.” He winces. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

I almost smile, and seeing this, so does he. We become quiet for a moment, neither of us really knowing where to go from here. “So,” I begin, hunching my shoulders and rubbing my upper arms because God I’m cold. “The conversation in the coffee house, it’s not our last?”

He sighs and looks away from me, and I instinctively know that I have to be so careful here. I cannot say the wrong thing, not this time. “Sonny,” I continue. “You said…you said you still—”

“I know what I said. I love you, Will. I just don’t know if I want to anymore.”

I let out a harsh breath, closing my eyes tight. “Shit.”

His shoulders slump. “Shit indeed.”

I shake my head, my heart beginning to pound as I step right up to him. It hurts how he pulls away slightly, but that’s my doing. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make this better and I’ll do it, Sonny.” I dare lift my hand to bring it under his chin, to tip it up so he’ll look at me. “Whatever you want. Whatever it takes. Just tell me.”

He looks at me, those brown eyes hitting me where it hurts because he is so heartbreakingly beautiful. I see the same struggle I saw in him that night in the coffee house when I asked to go home with him, and again, he reluctantly pulls away. But this time he leaves me with a nugget of hope.

“Come by Common Grounds tomorrow night, closing time.”

“Yeah?” I whisper.

I see him swallow, nod his head, but he won’t look me in the eye. “We’ll just…we’ll have coffee, and see if we can talk like…you know, like we used to.”

Something inside of me unclenches; I nod my head, a little too eagerly. “Right, yeah okay, I’ll be there.”

He watches me nod like an idiot, and I swear I see a hint of smile at the corner of his lips. Something even resembling fondness.

“I’m not promising anything, Will.” He warns. “Don’t get your hopes up.” But he says it almost softly.

I nod. “I understand,” I say, but I have a feeling he knows I’ve latched onto this small morsel like a life line.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s as if he’s exhausted, but he seems almost lighter, somehow. “I’m going.”

I watch him turn away, head to the door. “Sonny?”

He stops, and looks back at me warily.

“It…it hurts to look at you too.”

The only reaction I see is in his eyes. Just a quick flicker of something intimate that he’s not yet ready for me to see.

He doesn’t say anything, but as he’s leaving, he pauses by the sofa, picks up the box carrying my grandfather’s watch, and slides it into his pocket.


End file.
